A Matter of Song
by jkleeberger22
Summary: A panting elf, wearing bloodied armor, approached Maedhros. "The High King of the Noldor is dead. He fell fighting the lord of the balrogs." Fingon was Maedhros's kinsman, his childhood companion, and his high king. Even more importantly, Fingon is the one who saved his life on Thangorodrim. How does Maedhros feel when he cannot do the same for his friend? Non slash.
Disclaimer: The characters and events were dreamed up by J.R.R. Tolkien and (sadly) do not belong to me. A paragraph of the Silmarillion is contained in my story below.

O0o

The metal band gnawed against his wrist, its piercing chill penetrating his raw skin. Somehow, by some devilish device of Morgoth, the metal was still icy cold even though it had rubbed against Maedhros's skin for days. Had it been mere days, or had it been months, years, decades since his captor had hung him from the cliff? His brethren had loftily told the short lived Edain that for an elf, a hundred years seemed as if they were but a single day. Somehow, time had now lost that quality, mercilessly stretching a single moment into hours. His arm ached with the pressure of being caught between two forces. One was the gravity that governed the earth itself, tugging relentlessly at his feet; the other was the unyielding iron cuff, a symbol of the cruelty of the one who desired to rule the very essence of Arda.

After his capture, Maedhros had cursed Morgoth's servants, spoken words of defiance, and wove bold tales of the Dark Lord's downfall. He was the son of Feanor, and he had inherited a burning inner flame. He would not be subdued by this defiler, deceiver, the murderer of his father and grandfather! Even when Morgoth had left him hanging on the cliff, he had refused to show any sign of defeat. Now- now, he stared out into the darkness wrought not by natural night but by Morgoth's wizardry, his heart failed him.

Now Maedhros wished he could offer a plea to Manwë- a plea for death, although he trembled to imagine his judgment beyond the circles of the world. What mercy could there be for one who had taken the fell oath of Feanor, had willfully left Valinor, had participated in the slaying of elf by elf? What mercy could there be for him in the halls of the one who had proclaimed the doom of the Noldor for their cruel and rebellious deeds? Oh, but Maedhros would welcome even the sentence of endless years in the Halls of Mandos if it meant an end to this torture!

Memories swirled around in his mind like a murky whirl pool, mixing with the present until both seemed like a surreal dream. In the distance, he saw a tiny tongue of flame lick the edge of the black sky, kindling a memory of fire. Maedhros again heard himself ask Feanor which ships they should spare to return for Fingon, saw the madness in his father's eyes, watched in anger as the beautiful ships crafted by the Teleri were devoured by savage flames. If only he had tried harder to convince his father not to abandon their kindred to the mercy of the Grinding Ice!

A slight wind touched his feverish cheek, and Maedhros saw the green, waving grasses of Valinor that had been nurtured by Yavanna herself. Between their blades hid two elflings. The dark haired one held two slender locks of hair- one the shade of his own hair and the other red- and was weaving them together.

"Are you sure a bracelet isn't too girlish?"

"Of course not. We need to give something of ourselves to seal our pact."

"Hurry, Fin! I hear Maglor coming."

"All right, it's ready. I, Fingon, son of Fingolfin, promise to be Maedhros's best friend until the end of time or Arda itself."

"I, Maedhros, son of Feanor, promise to be Fingon's best friend until the end of time or Arda itself."

Both of the elflings slipped a bracelet of intertwined ginger and raven black onto their wrists before the memory faded.

A tear slid down Maedhros's cheek, and his arm felt too heavy to wipe it away. _I'm sorry, Fin! I should have tried harder, but I did not forget you! Now I shall die, and you will never know._

Then he heard music- the faint sound of a melody played on a harp's strings, while a clear, familiar voice rose in song. A song of Valinor- a song of the Noldor in the days of their glory. And the voice- Fingon! Oh, if only it were true! Surely it was only a dream, a memory, an imagining of his feverish brain in response to his longing. He lifted his head as high as was possible in his weakened condition and began to sing. If it was just another dream, he would honor it for its hope and its defiance of the darkness and despair around it. If it was just a dream, then he would die with its song on his lips, defying the dark oppressor of Arda with his last breath.

The strains of music stopped, and he saw a small figure at the foot of the cliff. "Fingon!" Maedhros cried aloud. Although he was filled with joy to see his cousin, he knew Fingon would never be able to scale the heights. Why prolong the inevitable, when every moment embodied a nightmare of misery and pain? "Slay me speedily! Shoot me with your bow if ever you had mercy, cousin! End my torment!" he pleaded.

 _Fingon strung an arrow, and bent his bow. And seeing no better hope he cried to Manwë, saying: 'O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need!' His prayer was answered swiftly. For Manwe… had sent forth the race of Eagles, commanding them to dwell in the crags of the North, and to keep watch upon Morgoth…Now, even as Fingon bent his bow, there flew down from the high airs Thorondor, King of Eagles…and staying Fingon's hand he took him up, and bore him to the face of the rock where Maedhros hung. But Fingon could not release the hell- wrought bond upon his wrist, nor sever it, nor draw it from the stone. Again therefore in his pain Maedhros begged that he would slay him; but Fingon cut off his hand above the wrist, and Thorondor bore them back to Mithrim. J.R.R. Tolkien, the Silmarillion._

O0o

Maedhros stirred and slowly opened his eyes. His cousin's face, framed by the familiar raven dark locks, was looking down at him with a mixture of joy and remorse.

"Maedhros, I am sorry."

"Why? You have saved my life!"

Fingon's eyes travelled to where Maedhros's arm lay underneath the bedcovers. "You do not remember," he stated softly.

Maedhros pushed aside the blanket and started when he saw a bandaged stub where his hand had been. "No, I did not remember," he whispered. "It comes back to me now- the pain and the darkness. Do not regret your deed, mellon nin. If it had not been for you, I would have lost much more."

"I-I worried that you would have preferred death over losing your hand," Fingon admitted quietly.

"I do not like it, but it allowed me to live at least another day. Another day in which I can fight against our enemy and avenge my father's death," Maedhros stated, the spark in his eyes revealing that the ashes of the old inner fire were stirred. Then they dimmed with sadness and regret. "I am sorry. I tried to convince my father to return for you, but I could not. This oath- it is terrible." Maedhros closed his eyes weakly and summoned a breath. "It enslaves its takers and drives them to terrible deeds. My hands may be unclean from the kinslaying, but I promise you, cousin, I did not participate in the burning. Please believe me," he pleaded. "I would not throw aside our kinship nor our age long friendship so lightly."

"Nor would I," Fingon squeezed his hand gently. "That is why I came in search of you, and I will not allow you to blame yourself for the treacheries of others."

"Thank you, Fin."

"I had no choice. My bracelet no longer fits, but we are still best friends forever, are we not?"

O0o

 _Years later, after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears_

"My lord Maedhros!" A panting elf, wearing bloodied armor, approached Maedhros. "The High King of the Noldor is dead. He fell fighting the lord of the balrogs, Gothmog."

One of the other elves noticed their lord's pale face and swiftly drew up a chair. Maedhros sank into it and nodded numbly at the soldier. "Thank you." He lowered his head into his hands, memories flooding him.

The youthful voice of Fingon promising eternal friendship. The strong voice of Fingon singing a song of hope and defiance. The agonized voice of Fingon as he pleaded for Manwe's mercy on his friend's behalf. The gentle voice of Fingon as he sat at Maedhros's bedside. The encouraging voice of Fingon as he watched Maedhros practice swordplay with his left hand. The passionate voice of Fingon as he rallied his troops during battle. Fingon, his childhood companion, his kinsman, his savior, his high king.

 _Oh, Fingon, you saved my life on the precipice at Thangorodrim! What a cruel fate that I could not do the same for you, my cousin, my friend!_ He felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder.

"The battle swept us far from our kinsman, Maedhros. We were hard pressed to keep our own lives," Maglor reminded him gently.

"It is my fault," Maedhros said bitterly. "If I had discovered the traitors in our ranks sooner, mayhap we could have gone to his aid instead of fleeing."

"There was nothing you could have done differently. You have seen and commanded enough fighting to know that the tides of battle change far too swiftly for us to foresee. Fingon knew this: would he have wanted you to accuse yourself?"

 _I will not allow you to blame yourself for the treacheries of others._

"No," Maedhros whispered.

"I am sorry, brother. I know you shall miss him."

Maedhros seemed to be lost in thought, and for several moments there was silence. "How shall I ever be able to properly honor his life and the friendship he gave?" he murmured sadly.

A gentle smile crossed Maglor's face. "I think I know."

O0o

"I shall now sing the lay of Fingon the Valiant," the minstrel announced.

Estel's eyes moved from the flickering fire to the elf in the middle of the darkened room. He tugged at Elrond's sleeve, stifling a tired yawn lest the elf lord should send him to bed before he heard the song. "Ada, I have not heard this one before," he whispered. "What is it?"

"Listen," Elrond replied softly. "I think you shall like it. It is a tale of the friendship between the high king of the Noldor and Maedhros the tall."

Estel followed his foster father's advice and listened carefully to the words of the lay. Soon he was perched on the edge of his seat enthralled, his grey eyes intent on the minstrel. Once the last notes faded, Elrond smiled at him.

"Well, Estel? What did you think?"

"I liked it, Ada."

"It was written by Maglor. He was like a father to me when I was an elfling, and he sang this song to me often," Elrond explained. He ran a hand gently over Estel's hair, feeling a twinge of love for his own fosterling. "He wanted the story of their friendship to be remembered."

Although Elrond held no great love for Maedhros after his deeds at the havens, he too wished the story to be told- because it honored Fingon's deeds of forgiveness, love, and bravery. The youthful Dunadan would need such examples in his life.

"I hope I have a friend like Fingon someday," Estel commented wistfully. His lashes blinked drowsily, and his head began to droop against Elrond's shoulder.

The elf lord lifted the child onto his lap, words of foresight coming to his lips unbidden. "You will have such a friendship, ion nin. One that will transcend barriers of race, time, and whatever else shall try to hinder it."

The End


End file.
